Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

The jeep's two snow-white headlights, like two sharp swords, pierced the night in the western suburbs of Beijing, a night that seemed capable of swallowing everything.

There are no streetlights here, only a silent poplar grove.

But deep within the darkness, countless vigilant eyes lurk.

"Stop the car! Password!"

The car was stopped as soon as it rounded a bend.

Three barricades, two heavy machine guns, and a squad of heavily armed soldiers. The dark muzzles of the guns gleamed with a chilling light under the headlights.

"Twice-cooked pork! Response!"

Chen Weiguo poked his head out and shouted.

"Only green onions! Let them through!"

The sentry glanced at the license plate, checked the special pass Chen Weiguo handed over, then saluted and waved to signal the barrier to be raised.

This is the core office area of ​​the Chinese Academy of Sciences.

It is also the only remaining spark of warmth in this country during this cold era.

The car slowly drove into the compound and finally stopped in front of an inconspicuous gray brick building. The building was brightly lit, and busy silhouettes were reflected in the windows.

"Commander, we've arrived."

Shen Jinghong pushed open the car door and got out.

The autumn night wind was chilly, cutting like a knife against his face. He tightened his old overcoat and glanced back at Lin Qinghan, who had followed him down.

She clutched the suitcase tightly in her hand; her face was somewhat pale, but her eyes were frighteningly bright.

"Are you nervous?" Shen Jinghong asked.

"A little."

Lin Qinghan took a deep breath and looked at the tightly closed wooden door. "The person sitting inside is the one who has raised the ceiling of our country's technology."

"Don't be afraid."

Shen Jinghong smiled, reached out to tidy her wind-blown temples, and spoke in a gentle yet firm voice:

"From today onwards, we are also part of this ceiling. We'll even take them to see the stars on the ceiling."

After saying that, he turned around, took a step, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

"Squeak—"

The door opened.

A strong smell, a mixture of cheap tobacco and old paper, immediately hit me.

It was very hot inside, the heating was on full blast, and it was even a bit dry.

A dozen or so people sat around a huge conference table.

There were no suits and ties as I had imagined, nor were there any exquisite tea snacks.

Most of them were wearing faded Zhongshan suits or old military uniforms with patches. Some were smoking heavily with their heads down, some were frantically calculating on draft paper with pencils, and others were arguing heatedly over a single figure.

Upon hearing the door open, the room instantly fell silent.

A dozen pairs of eyes turned to look at them simultaneously.

Shen Jinghong stood at the door, her gaze sweeping over the familiar yet unfamiliar faces, and her heart seemed to skip a beat for a moment.

What an amazing lineup!

Sitting first on the left, refined and gentle, with a slightly high hairline and a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, was Qian Jishi (the prototype of Qian Xuesen), the king of aerodynamics who was worth five divisions.

The man opposite him, with a stocky build, a simple and honest smile, and eyes as firm as iron, was Deng Xingbang (the prototype of Deng Jiaxian), the future pioneer of China's nuclear weapons program.

The man in the corner, wearing thick-rimmed glasses and taciturn, scribbling in his notebook, is Yu Min (the real-life inspiration for Yu Min), the father of the hydrogen bomb who single-handedly built an army.

and also……

Guo Yonghuai, Zhao Zhongyao, Wang Ganchang...

In their past lives, these names were printed in textbooks, engraved on monuments, and worshipped by countless descendants.

And now, they are sitting there, alive and well.

They are still young, and their faces still bear the anxiety caused by the country's poverty and weakness, but in their eyes burn an inextinguishable fire.

Shen Jinghong felt her eyes burning and her throat felt like it was blocked by something.

He instinctively straightened his back, adjusted his collar, and then put his feet together.

"Snapped!"

A bow that wasn't standard, but was full of respect.

Good evening, everyone.

His voice trembled slightly, a barely suppressed excitement:

"This junior, Shen Jinghong, a returned overseas student from the Department of Mechanical Engineering at MIT, is here to report for duty!"

The room was quiet.

Everyone was sizing up the young man.

too young.

He looked to be in his early twenties, still retaining a scholarly air. Could such a young man really shoulder the "heavy responsibility" described in the top-secret file?

"You're Shen Jinghong?"

A slightly aged voice broke the silence.

The speaker was an elderly professor with a full head of silver hair. He adjusted his glasses, his gaze somewhat critical.

"Marshal Nie praised you to the skies on the phone. He said you were a rare genius and that you brought back something incredible."

The old professor sighed and threw the pencil in his hand onto the table:

"Young comrade, having patriotism is good. But scientific research isn't just about passion; it's about real, tough challenges. You've seen our current conditions—we lack everything. Do you think your skills can overcome our meager resources?"

This may be a blunt statement, but it is the truth.

This is also a concern for everyone present.

They are not afraid of hardship or fatigue, but they are afraid that even if they work their hardest, they will not be able to produce anything and will let down the country and the people.

Lin Qinghan glanced nervously at Shen Jinghong, and was about to step forward to speak on his behalf.

Shen Jinghong stopped her.

He was neither angry nor did he try to explain himself.

He simply stepped into the conference room as naturally as if he were walking into his own living room.

"The old gentleman is right."

Shen Jinghong walked to the end of the conference table, placed her hands on the surface, and looked intently at each of the masters present:

"Doing scientific research is indeed a tough nut to crack. Especially for a country like China, with a weak foundation, a late start, and a pack of wolves eyeing the field."

"If we proceed step by step, it will indeed be difficult for us to catch up."

"but!"

His voice suddenly rose, exuding an air of domineering confidence:

"What if I had a way to avoid taking the wrong path? What if I had a way to stand on the shoulders of giants and take off?"

"Avoid taking detours?"

The old professor chuckled. "Young man, don't speak too confidently. There are no shortcuts in science."

"There are no shortcuts in science, but there are in technology."

Shen Jinghong smiled.

He turned around, took the heavy leather suitcase from Lin Qinghan, and placed it heavily in the center of the conference table.

"Thump!"

A muffled thud shook the teacups on the table.

"I'm a rather down-to-earth person, not good at spouting grand principles."

Shen Jinghong placed her hand on the lock of the suitcase, but her gaze fell on the refined middle-aged man sitting at the head of the table who had remained silent—Qian Jishi.

"Professor Qian, when I was in the United States, my mentor often mentioned you. He said that you alone are worth five divisions."

Qian Jishi smiled slightly, stubbed out his cigarette, and stood up.

His wise eyes gazed silently at Shen Jinghong, as if they could see through the young man's soul.

"Those are just empty words used by Americans."

Qian Jishi's voice was gentle and refined, yet carried immense force: "Jinghong, I'll only ask you one question. You went through so much trouble to return from America; besides this burning passion, what else did you bring back?"

He slowly walked up to Shen Jinghong, extended his large hands that had calculated countless ballistic trajectories, and tightly grasped Shen Jinghong's hand.

The hands of two generations of returned students were clasped tightly together.

Palms facing each other, burning hot like fire.

"I heard..."

Qian Jishi looked at the leather suitcase, a barely perceptible tremor and anticipation flashing in his eyes:

"You brought back a 'big gift' for our poor family?"